


A Fruitful Headache

by ElfyDwarf



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blood, Drama queens, ER!AU, Emergency room, Head Injury, M/M, Minor Injuries, Sex, Wounds, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3587943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfyDwarf/pseuds/ElfyDwarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo is supposed to be meeting Thorin for a second date, but is instead, waiting in the Emergency Room with a minor head injury caused by shopping in the home baking section. He calls to rearrange the date but his predicament turns into rather a fruitful evening, if you excuse the pun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fruitful Headache

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the AU list and i just... it's like waving a banner saying FREE FOOD at a hobbit. Do you honestly think i can resist?! NO, the answer is no, clearly, because here is the evidence *throws it on the ground* I hope you enjoy :) nothing real, nothing gained, nothing owned.

 

 

Bilbo sighs and shuffles restlessly on the solid and uncushioned seat he's been ordered to stay on by a nurse with extremely angry eyebrows and a bun so tight upon her greying head that if she laughed, the hair at her temples would snap like a bowstring. He looks around at the sullen grimaces of those also unfortunately stranded in the ER with various injuries. The teenage girl sat close by is steadily grounding his nerves into dust with her constant retelling and wailing about how her friend struck her with a stone and that she'll die any second. He smiles and rolls his eyes at the middle-aged woman sat near by who has clearly taken a tumble, her face bruised and her arm swollen like a balloon while blood runs down the side of her face. She could complain, but the teenager is clearly doing enough for the both of them.

 

“Any family we can call for you?” the sour nurse appears at Bilbo's side and he jumps a little. He blinks past the agony in his jaw and head and shakes his head.

 

“No, but there's a call I need to make, just a quick one mind, can I be allowed to go and make it or is there some kind of rule where I can't leave?” he chuckles but the stern and clouded face of the nurse kills it in his throat.

 

“Well,” she drawls, “I'm not going to stop you leaving. But, if you go wandering off, Mr Baggins, with a head wound and likely concussion then you'll not be helped, being invisible and all of that,” she sighs, “If you go down to the right, there's a smokers area and a help button on the wall should you need it. I suppose my pointing out that if you dally for too long, your slot will go to the next patient and you'll be waiting far longer, isn't really needed, is it?” she raises one brow and Bilbo nods, waiting until she has ghosted back through the doors and out of sight. He gets up and sways for a moment, groaning while his head swims and pain stabs all over his scalp, fishing for his phone as he wanders towards the automatic doors. When the chilly air rushes at him he smiles and finds a bench, steadying himself and relishing the quiet outside in the courtyard. There's a chap sitting in the shelter across the way, chuffing on his cigarette while the glaring of his phones screen distracts him from the obviously shattered leg he has propped on the wheelchair he should be sitting in.

 

“Well,” Bilbo bleats as he scrolls through his call history to find the number he wants and, taking a breath of courage, hits dial and fidgets as it rings in his ear.

 

“Hello?” the deep baritone has him smiling despite feeling utterly nervous, stomach churning.

 

“Thorin?”

 

“Bilbo! Not calling to cancel are you?” Thorin laughs down the line and Bilbo finds himself shaking his head at how much he doesn't want to say anything, doesn't want to explain anything, would rather hide forever more.

 

“Well, not _exactly_ , more like calling to rearrange,” he winces as he waits for a reply. Thorin has stopped laughing and is silent for a moment, Bilbo knows he is feeling a little put out and annoyed. It's not like Bilbo has cried off before, but their first date hadn't gone overly well.

 

“Oh, I see,” Thorin says icily, “I suppose letting a guy know fifteen minutes before you're due to board the boat is better than leaving him high and dry, excuse the pun. Well, see you around, Mister Baggins.”

 

“No! No no no Thorin, I'm not begging off I swear!” Bilbo panics, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I'm preoccupied and I can't get away any time soon. I wanted to rearrange the date because I really would like to see you again,” he sighs a little and sits back against the bench, watching the man across from him expertly manoeuvre himself back into his wheelchair without so much as a hiss of pain or a wobble.

 

“Explain,” Thorin snaps, his disappointment oozing down the phone and Bilbo presses his free hand to his forehead.

 

“I'm in the ER, Thorin,” he mumbles and stretches out his legs. Thorin's attitude changes in a flash as Bilbo hears him shift, perhaps sitting forward suddenly, more alert and worried than annoyed.

 

“What? _Why_? Which one?” he babbles, panicking and Bilbo smiles softly at his worrying.

 

“Don't panic, nothing serious, I was brought in earlier by the blues and twos,” Thorin's gasp has him forward on his knees quickly, “Don't panic! I swear it's nothing bad, I just have to wait for my CT results and get a few stitches and some medication before I can leave knowing I'm OK,” he feels very tired all of a sudden as he leans on his knees, scrubbing at his face.

 

“What happened?” Thorin is clearly not angry any longer and Bilbo feels relief wash over him. The last thing he wanted to do was annoy him, let alone upset him. No, he's too fantastic to let slip away in Bilbo's eyes.

 

“I was doing a quick shop in Tesco for, er, _things_ ,” he coughs, grateful that nobody is out there with him anymore as he's sure his face is as bright as a traffic light, “Some drunkard came barrelling down the home baking section and took me out at the knees with the mop he'd thieved. I went down and bounced my head off the dried fruit shelf on the way down. Woke up in the ambulance. I've been assessed and had my tests done, just waiting to be let go in the clear,” he rubs at his temples a bit, his head thumping like a drum, “See, not begging off.”

 

“What's he look like? Should I get on to Dawlin? He could roundhouse him back to the pit he crawled out of,” Thorin growls but Bilbo's chuckles take him down to a respectable level of angry, “So, you're in Greenwood Royal?”

 

“What- Yes, yes I am, where else would I be?” Bilbo blinks, looking around as if he might see Thorin looming in the shadows, “I'll be out soon enough. A concussion and a cut is all. I thought I should let you know and sort out another date rather than leaving you without a word. Forgive me?” he grins, bouncing his legs.

 

“Just checking,” Thorin sounds a little distracted, “Let me come and get you and consider yourself forgiven.”

 

“Wh- no, no Thorin, you needn't-”

 

“No choice. You'll need somebody to watch over you for the night at least. Anyway,” Thorin shifts the phone and Bilbo hears the distinct noise of his car door shutting and the beeping of the car with the keys sitting in the ignition, “I'm leaving the house. And, I want to.”

 

“Alright,” Bilbo smiles, picking at the hem of his polo shirt, “Be prepared, the chairs are awful on the arse and there's a teenage melodramatic wailing like a banshee.”

 

“You're welcome,” Thorin laughs and the call is ended. Bilbo chuckles as he wanders back inside and takes up the seat he had occupied before, clenching his jaw when the banshee begins retelling her tale to a new and unsuspecting victim who has his fingers stuck in tiny jar. The nurse wanders past and eyes him before wandering back to her station, rummages around in boxes he can't see but he can hear and then she's suddenly in front of him looking less severe and a little caring. Her face doesn't move but her hair doesn't look as though it's going to tear quite so much.

 

“Here,” she says, handing him a wad of gauze, “That cut is a little larger than I thought. Wind must've blown your hair to the side,” she says slowly, “I have no bay free so... Sting coming,” she warns before there's a wet sensation on the side of his head followed rapidly by a viscous stinging and he has to really tighten his jaw to prevent his shout, “Don't do that. You're making it bleed more.”

 

“I can't help it,” he bites out, closing his eyes and breathing harshly through his nose while he pounds his thigh, “doesn't sting so much as it burns,” he groans and tries desperately not to be sick down himself. By all deities that there are, it _hurts_.

 

“It's a saline wash,” she states, “Here's the anaesthetic,” and soon enough, though his head and neck are sodden and tinged with blood, she takes the gauze as his wound goes completely numb and he sits trying to breathe properly while he's padded up.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbles to her when she moves to leave and she smiles, tightly, but sincere nonetheless, yanking off her gloves as she disappears through the doors again. He's left to stare at his fingers and control the swimming in his head and gut while the teenage drama queen stares at him, her tiny cut on her forehead suddenly nothing in comparison.

 

“Mr Dale Barding?” shouts a doctor from behind him and Bilbo just about prevents the lurch through his body. If they would kindly stop scaring him out of his wits, that would be nice, thank you. The young man from the smoking shelter wheels himself through the maze of seats and follows the doctor with a smile and Bilbo sees that he has a arrow in his smashed up leg; the shape of it sitting under the skin of his leg, from where the flight is sticking out at his knee down to his ankle has Bilbo really fighting down his stomach. He gives Bilbo a wink as he wheels past, hardly bothered at all. Morphine, Bilbo concludes.

 

“Doesn't look like 'nothing' to me,” comes an amused voice from his right and Bilbo smiles before turning his head to get a look at Thorin, “Definitely not 'nothing', my god, you took a wallop didn't you?” Thorin speaks softly, reaching to touch the wad of gauze though his fingers never make contact.

 

“Wounds often look worse than they are,” Bilbo smiles, feeling far better than he had not a minute ago now that he has his fill of Thorin's bright blue eyes, his light smile though he is clearly worried, “You really needn't have come, but thank you for doing so.”

 

“I'd be a pretty big dick if I left you here by yourself,” Thorin rumbles, turning in his seat to face Bilbo, “I _have_ come to care about you if you hadn't guessed,” he tucks a stray curl of Bilbo's behind his ear and rests his arm on the back of their joined chairs, “Trust you to get KO'ed by a mop thief.”

 

“Yes, yes, laugh it up,” Bilbo chuckles, waving him off when Thorin begins to shake from poorly concealed laughing, “It was the dried fruit that took me out really.”

 

“So, a fly by fruiting, was it?” Thorin sniggers and ducks his head down when Bilbo levels him with an incredulous stare, “I'm sorry.”

 

“No, you're not,” Bilbo almost shrieks, giggling himself. Thorin's laugh is contagious, he's sure of it.

 

“No, no I'm not,” Thorin smiles, bright and loving and directed straight at Bilbo. Disarming smiles. Bilbo shakes his head while he fights to stop grinning, thumping his companion in the shoulder for good measure. He then notices that Thorin is wearing a suit, black and charcoal with a damn waistcoat and baby blue tie.

 

“Oh, look at you! I'm so sorry about all of this,” he feels like a right git again but Thorin wags a finger at him and tells him to shut up with one cool look.

 

“None of that,” he says quietly, taking Bilbo by the hand and turning him to face Thorin, mirroring the taller mans pose. He notices that Thorin has a leg bent up on the seat and a bright pink sock is glaring up at him from between fitted trouser and shoe. He laughs and Thorin raises an eyebrow while he tries to keep serious even as the smile sneaking across his face tells otherwise, “Don't say a word.”

 

“Mr Baggins?” yells another doctor and Bilbo whirls in his seat and nods up at the tall blond man holding his wedge of notes. He turns to Thorin and pats his hand.

 

“Back in a minute,” Bilbo tells him before following after the doctor. It takes another half an hour of eye examinations, the review of his scan and blood test for Bilbo to be told that he is fit and well, that he doesn't have concussion but should have company for the night on the off chance that he falls sick from the bang he took. He has his head stapled and cleaned under a local anaesthetic before he is told to take it easy and go home with a bag of codeine, saline wash and gauze should the wound bleed any further.

 

“What did Mr Crowen say?” Thorin says as he gets up, placing the magazine down and his glasses back in his inside pocket. Bilbo takes a moment to soak that image in before he smiles and waggles the bag in his hand.

 

“No concussion, thankfully, a good bill of health, clear bloods and a bag of treats to keep the headache at bay,” he beams and laughs when Thorin looks like he might crumple from relief, “Said it was nothing,” he presses as Thorin leans over him to look at the nasty gash on his head, “Wait, how do you know Mr Crowen?”

 

“Still, 'nothing' doesn't produce holes in ones head,” he drawls, “I went to school with Thranduil. He was studying cranial trauma when I spoke to him last,” he hooks Bilbo's arm and leads him out into the carpark towards his Lexus.

 

“You went to school with him? But I thought you were a computer consultant or something to do with motherboards and the innards of computers?” Bilbo wonders as the door is opened for him. Thorin smiles and shuts the door and soon appears in the drivers seat.

 

“Not computers, no. I work at King Thror Hospital. I'm a neurological consultant and surgeon,” he says nonchalantly as he starts the engine, “I guess I do fix motherboards and circuits of a sort. Now I _can_ look after you, properly,” he grins at Bilbo's dumbstruck expression, “Pizza?”

 

#=#

 

“I could get used to this kind of care,” Bilbo breathes before his breath hitches and he moans loudly, mindful not to throw his head back and crack it off the headboard.

 

“I did say,” Thorin huffs, “That I can look after you, qualified and everything, _oh Christ_ ,” he growls as his hips piston forward into the vice that is Bilbo. He grips and gropes at Bilbo's thighs and arse as he thrusts at an erratic pace, trying to lift his legs into the curve of his elbows. Bilbo gets the hint when Thorin moans and leans forward to kiss him with the consuming heat of an out of control fire, sliding his legs easily up into place and shouting his pleasure when the new angle sets off a whole new feast of sensations.

 

“Oh _my_ \- Tho _rin_!” he yells, clutching at the dark head as it goes for his throat, biting and grumbling and licking at him like he's the most delicious food ever to have existed. Bilbo's mind reels as his feet bounce and his legs steadily slide up Thorin's bunched muscles until his thighs bracket his biceps and Thorin is everywhere as he keeps up the fever hot pace, his wide spread knees bracing Bilbo's hips.

 

“You're beautiful,” Thorin moans, his eyes bright and vivid blue, his mouth slack as they roll and his tongue dances on his teeth, “I hope it's not too forward of me to assume this role of carer for the foreseeable future, _Mary and Joseph_ , oh!” he groans, moaning brokenly as he pants into Bilbo's exposed neck, scraping teeth from his ear to his throat.

 

“Oh no,” Bilbo gasps, clawing at his back, “Not too forward, never, I need looking after and someone needs to reach the top shelf once in a while!” he ends in a shout as Thorin slows down but doesn't ease on the power of his hips. It's extremely sensitive and wet and the rigid length of Thorin slides into him and out again in the most divine way.

 

“I can't keep this up, I can't,” Thorin hisses, chokes and whimpers as he does a few quick but shallow thrusts into the wet vice, relishing in the slide around his cock even as it threatens to consume him and pull everything out from under his feet.

 

“Then come, come hard and long and scream and wail and let me feel and hear everything you have, Thorin,” Bilbo breathes, eyes rolling in his head as Thorin picks up speed and power, something he marvels at. The sheen of sweat down Thorin's chest and arms makes him glow and his short hair is sticking all over the place, Bilbo's hands having destroyed any style the moment they discarded the pizza and ignored the movie on the TV.

 

“Ah Christ, Bilbo, _Bilbo_!” Thorin huffs and gives a very hard set of thrusts, “ _Bilbo!_ ” he shouts, diving to kiss him deeply, trying to coordinate his tongue while his hips stutter and then stop. He moves quickly, biting Bilbo's neck as he pulls out and then his mouth is gone and in a flash Bilbo bows and yelps at the wet heat surrounding his painful erection. Thorin licks and sucks and swallows and moans and Bilbo can't take more than a few moments of those sinful noises or the striking image of Thorin between his legs with his bum in the air, _eating_ him. He gives a quick tug to one ear and his back bows again and any concern for his head is out of the window in his wordless shout of 'Thorin' while he is sucked and licked dry by a deeply moaning mouth. 

 

“Not such a bad date after all,” Thorin remarks casually from his place between Bilbo's knees when the other comes down from his stupor. He lightly smacks Thorin's shoulder and laughs when the brunet winks and nips at his hipbone. His eye twitches and he groans, covering his face as the headache his pleasure had cleverly masked bangs on his skull like a policeman at the door. Thorin sees and pats his knee before getting off the bed, discarding the condom and venturing through Bilbo's house, _naked_ , wordlessly in search of the painkillers and tea. Bilbo smiles through his agony and flops onto his belly, moaning into the pillow about naked sleepovers and decency because the curtains downstairs are open, _thank you_ , and just how wonderful is this man singing in his kitchen, caring for him without question? Not a bad date entirely, not at all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know who has seen the BTS of the lads getting into their icy cold barrels, but Richard lowers himself into his barrel and his face... well. The "his mouth slack as they (his eyes) roll and his tongue dances on his teeth" part is because of that expression of his. it's exactly what i could see. it's a delight. 
> 
> i also, unless stated otherwise, imagine our lovelies closer to looking like their human counterparts with all of the characteristics of themselves. jal feel? course jal do ;)


End file.
